


High voltage

by cigarettesandalcohol



Series: Their Little Lion [4]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Cheating, Desk Sex, First Time, M/M, Multiple Relationships, Painful Sex, Poor Harry, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, and second time etc, but don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 14:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: There was always this ticklish feeling in Harry's belly when his boss called him into his office.





	High voltage

_Gareth. Gareth._

He bites his lips, humming desperately.

_No, not Gareth._

He's afraid to even unclench his teeth because of the fear of saying that name or moaning something he just shouldn't.

_Gareth._

"Harry - " the voice behind him gasps, and a harsh grasp of his hair makes him wake up back to reality. He exhales against the cold surface of the desk he's bent over, and grabs the edge of it with even more vigor, though the desk feels slippery under his sweaty hands. " _Harry_ \- "

 Pochettino sounds like he can't even make a full sentence, and ' _Harry'_ is all he's able to get out in short rasps, aligned with his convulsive digging of fingers in Harry's flesh.

_Gareth. Gareth._

Harry tries to hold it in, bite his lip and keep his eyes closed. It helps on the outside - but inside of his head, he still sees himself in a different situation, in a different place, and with _someone else_.

"Please," he chokes out weakly, pressing his forehead against the desk. It feels soothingly cool and stable as if that could stop his stirring thoughts in order. "Please - "

Pochettino's hand against the back of his neck keeps him pressed down in a posture that's almost humiliating but he doesn't mind that, he doesn't care about anything else than the terribly uncomfortable pain that he's not at all used to and that brings back the memories of the first time - which was _not_ with Mauricio.

 Southgate took him like this - almost like this - some time ago, during one of their secret weekends in a countryside cottage that became their hideout for quiet peaceful moments spent alone far from the crows and trainings and TV reporters. It was similar, naturally, but still very different; it was Gareth, quiet, gentle Gareth with a caring touch and questioning glances. _Harry. Harry, you need to talk to me - if anything's not good, just tell me -_

Of course, he didn't say a word. It hurt, it hurt really bad, but he couldn't bring himself to saying a single word because he didn't want to disappoint Gareth. He wanted to be a good boy, the perfect lover, the one who doesn't complain and just learns in the process.  Southgate looked horrified when he saw the tears in the skipper's eyes and he apologized at least ten times, _oh God, Harry, I'm so sorry, does it hurt_? _You need to say something, God, is it really that bad_? He nodded, avoiding Gareth's concerned look and trying to calm himself down. _You need to relax, Harry_. Gareth's voice, accompanied by his breath brushing against his ear, was probably the best meditation.

_You need to relax, Harry._

He could almost hear that voice in his head again.

 Pochettino wasn't coherent and gentle at all.

His breath was ragged and harsh, constantly being interrupted by some Spanish profanities that Harry couldn't understand - and by the moaning of his own name which sent shivers down Harry's spine every time because of how possessive that was in combination with Poch's hands, grabbing him, moving him, pushing down against the desk forcefully.

 It hurts - but it hurts  _good_. Something sickly humiliating yet arousing made Harry completely paralyzed and unable to protest even if he wanted to - the idea of his boss shamelessly fucking him in his office, as he's bent over the desk like some whore in the cheapest brothel, actually seemed more exciting than perverse to him.

 Poch grabs him by shoulders, muttering something in a broken combination of Spanish and English, and Harry even tries to turn his head to understand him better.

" - like this - " Pochettino gasps, digging his fingers into Harry's shoulders through the cloth of his training shirt.

 Harry nods, not having the slightest idea what his boss has been just saying but that doesn't matter - he's holding him down like this, making his heart race like crazy, and he can't possibly have any other answer.

"Does he?" Pochettino hisses in a lustful voice, grabbing him by the hair again as before.

Harry whines a little, trying his best to not sound annoyed.

"What is he like?"

_Oh God._

 "Tell me, Harry - "

" _No_ ," he cries pitifully, against the wooden surface. "I - I never - "

"Come on - " It sounds more like a threat than a request. The grasp of Pochettino's hands grew tighter with every thrust, and Harry had to focus on the most basic things as breathing and keeping quiet, there was just no way his brain could process any other information now. "I know he does - he's - all over you - every time - you're with him - "

Harry can hardly let out a few broken moans and shattered words that don't even make sense and that's all, it's hard to speak against the desk surface with his whole body shaking and moving with every other thrust; when Poch pulls his head back by the hair, it's painful but it makes breathing much easier.

"I couldn't - " He gasped, hissing through his teeth in the next moment.

"That's it Harry - you're so fucking good - I'm not even surprised he can't resist you - "

The manager let go off his hair; Harry's head fell back down on the desk immediately since he was too exhausted by now to keep it up, but Poch's hand grabbed the back of his neck instead. "He can have you during the internationals - Harry - " His fingers dug deeper into Harry's flesh. "But you're mine - don't forget - you're fucking mine and not his - "

"Yes - yes - I am - "

"Just say it, Harry - say my name - "

"Yes - " Harry says almost deliriously. 

"Say it - "

"I'm - I'm yours - yes, please - "

He knows he won't cum, not now, not like this, but Poch's breathing gets still shorter and more ragged with every second and his touch and grasp is still more desperate and possessive.

"Say it, Harry - "

"I belong - I belong to you - _Daddy_ \- yes, Daddy, please, Mauricio, yes - "

"Harry - Harry, _Harry_ \- "

That's _the end_ , Kane knows it immediately as Pochettino holds him in one place, pressed down, with all his might, and gasps in a choked cry - whenever he gets into the neverending loop of chanting _Harry, oh, Harry, yes, Harry_ , it's a sign of him completely losing control, which is happening exactly now - and then, in a few short moments, Pochettino lays down on top of him, his shirt is all sweaty and sticky against Harry's equally wet back. His heartbeat is frantic, loud, and Harry can feel it with the same intensity as his own.

"Harry - " 

The hand that's been so torturingly harsh with him in the past few minutes caresses his hair softly as if none of it had happened.

"You're mine, Harry boy - " He gulps and licks his lips before pressing a surprisingly sweet kiss in Harry's hair. "I don't care what _he_ says - or does - but you belong to me."


End file.
